Chapter 33
My tree, now a charred and broken thing, greeted me in the darkness.
I hovered there over the black, the nothing, and scoured the scene before me, fixated on my sanctuary and years-long source of safety.
Gone. I held back tears between tight lips and waded into the dark, drawing ever closer.
With each step, the ground formed beneath my feet: daisies, tulips, tall grass …
a meadow. My body tensed, pinning me in place.
Leeran’s meadow!
The magic beneath my skin tickled in my throat in warning.
Torn between the ashen willow I wished to hold, to thank, and the unavoidable urge to get out of sight, I inevitably settled on the nudge of my magic.
Low to the ground, I sank past the tree’s hollow shell—the smell as I passed more like burnt flesh than burnt wood—and army-crawled up over the embankment.
What awaited on the other side stole my breath: a jagged mountain cast a dense shadow across the barren landscape ahead.
This was the same place where I’d been hunted by Famine and taken his life, though the edges had filled in now.
Beyond sat a thick forest the light refused to touch.
The violet sky swirled in a fierce storm over the land in the mountain’s shadow and yet somehow stood eerily motionless. Still. As if lying in wait.
My magic urged me again, guiding me to hide behind the nearest tree as a whistle rose up over the grade: Bethesda’s song.
But it wasn’t her lips whistling the tune, it was Leeran’s—or should I say, Deception’s.
My hands fisted at my side, the glamour lifting at his approach, and his true form stepped into the light.
While not entirely beast, his eyes … they didn’t blink as a human would.
They blinked from the corners, a thick reptilian-like film sliding over his pinprick irises. The scales across his body: snakelike.
He walked to the bench and sat, waiting with unnatural stillness that mirrored the forest beyond.
I watched him as the flames beneath my fingertips grew and ached to be released, to wrap around his throat and burn slowly.
And they could. It’d be easy. All I had to do was stalk around to the trees at his back, sneak up unseen, and strike.
End him right then and there. But again, the magic inside me urged: patience.
My eyes had all but glazed over when Deception finally referenced a nonexistent watch on his wrist and rose, leaving the way he came.
The magic inside me once again called out, this time to follow.
Keeping a safe distance between us, I mirrored his steps like a shadow, and it didn’t take long to notice his straight course toward those storm-covered woods.
Nails pressed into my palms, I almost stopped.
Almost let him continue through the charcoal thorn bushes and into the open field on his own, but curiosity won out.
What did my magic aim to gain by tailing him?
What was my intuition trying to tell me?
I paused when we reached the wide clearing.
There was no way to follow through those dead lands without him hearing me behind, seeing me.
He stepped carefree into the open, no concern for what might pursue him there.
No worry that he might be downed by Famine, or Chaos, or beasts lurking in the forest ahead.
My chest flushed. Of course not, he was a Lore—feared and untouchable by even the Wendigo and creatures of the briny deep.
I watched his frame grow smaller and smaller, dancing about in the tree line.
Follow, the voice of my omnipotent helper rang through.
But still I paused to consider what would happen if he should find me.
Your aura is concealed, the voice urged. He won’t know you’re there. Follow.
That first step of blind faith felt like walking along a razor’s edge; all or nothing, win or lose, I was doing this.
Committed. My steps quickened, and I carefully navigated through fallen twigs and patches of dry grass.
While my invisible helper had mentioned concealing my aura, they’d made no mention of sounds.
I caught up to Leeran’s casual saunter as he stepped into the forest of violet-leafed oak trees.
The piercing silence left an unnatural ring in my ears, like clinking metal.
And, unbeknownst to me, we waltzed right into the Queen of Lore’s backyard.
The trees whispered to one another as I passed, as if they recognized an intruder in their midst but couldn’t see it.
Couldn’t see me. Leeran, not ten feet ahead—only traceable in utter darkness by his clashing footsteps—didn’t look over his shoulder, unaware of the forest’s conversation, it seemed.
My foot snagged on a thick root, threatening to bring me down. And that? That he did hear. He thrashed back toward me in a snarled mess of teeth and claws. I narrowly evaded his grasp and slid to the side, pressing my back against the nearest tree.
Hold your breath. Don’t move.
I did as I was told. My heart climbed into my throat as the vile creature before me scoured the forest.
Hold.
Lungs tightening with each passing second, I waited for Deception to reel about in search of the omnipotent voice which spoke to me, but if he heard it, he certainly didn’t show it.
One, two, three …
Keep holding.
Four, five, six …
A little longer.
Seven, eight …
On it went, until my lungs threatened to burst from my ribcage.
Finally, Deception threw his head back in defeat and continued on his way.
As silently as possible, I heaved for air.
Safe … for now. I waited for him to take a few steps into the void before I resumed my pace behind him, my knees shaking.
The forest’s darkness was so thick it rattled the soul; encouraged a sense of loneliness unlike any I’d known in the woken world.
For the first time since the helpful voice had come to my aid, I spoke back with intention.
“Can I use my magic?” I murmured.
A couple beats passed, until the voice rang through with, Tinctured, not Elemental.
I could work with that. Same as last time, my magic proved far easier to wield in the Shroud.
Why, I wasn’t entirely sure, but that was a question for later.
A few seconds, and I had the light beneath my skin bubbling into my fingertips like a torch.
I savored the warm glow lighting my path as Deception’s movements grew more feral.
My jaw clenched at the progression, his shoulders slouching and his pace becoming more slither than a walk the farther in we got.
While my feet now took more informed steps, my eyes were less than happy with the illumination.
Much the same as I’d seen before falling to my near-death in Misery’s waters, human faces emerged from the tree bark at every turn, each pained and cloaked in a deathly pallor.
But these faces, they didn’t bother to scream like before.
Didn’t cry out as they had in the stone canyon, as if they knew to be quiet in the queen’s forest. I swallowed hard and tried to avoid their stares, which bore right through the invisible cloak over me.
They watched. Waited, it seemed, for me to acknowledge their pain, however many years or centuries in the making.
But I gave them no such confirmation. I couldn’t risk it.
Leeran wandered for some time, Bethesda’s nursery rhyme still heavy on his tongue.
We wound over snarled tree roots, through a creek the color of fresh flowing blood, and into a gorge surrounded by carved stones ten feet tall.
I paused beside the rightmost statue, running my hand across its rough surface when my muscles seized.
Seven stones were embedded in each: the stones of the Ancient Lores.
My gaze drifted, settling on the manor below: a black-and-violet house of Victorian design.
A hideout fit for a queen. The giant stone statues circled it, as protection no doubt.
Despite the way my bones shook, I dared a step closer, and my skin began to crawl at a sudden swell of magic in the air.
Unlike the buzz of my Elemental affinity or the warmth of my Tinctured, this felt like water rushing into my lungs set to drown me.
Baneful magic, my helper confirmed. The aura concealment will hold, but not for long. Be quick, for what enters Malignant Manor rarely leaves.
Goose bumps reared as I stepped past the manor’s wards and drifted down the hillside.
Deception sauntered up the iron railed stairs, passing through the wide-open door with little concern of being followed.
I might have wondered why if it weren’t for the way my head spun and stomach soured the nearer I drew to the manor.
Deep breath, Fey. You can do this, I reminded myself.
A moment’s pause, and I stepped inside.
First impression? Clean. Too clean. Not a speck of dust nor scuff on the wood.
It was immaculate, perfectly preserved. Spelled to be such, no doubt.
I drifted into a living room of sorts. In the corner, atop an oval table, a round object on an ornate stand lay concealed by a silken cloth.
If I’d had the time, I’d have peeked inside at the secrets it veiled, but Leeran’s whistle was disappearing quickly down the hall, muffled already. I hurried to catch up.
The hallway was where Malignant Manor’s true colors began to show through.
What should have been floorboards beneath my feet were, in fact, of a much more sinister make—more human faces, their eyes cast toward the ceiling, each bearing one thing in common: utter terror.
They moved, cried out, tried to close their eyes, but upon further inspection I saw what kept them from it.
Stitches pinned their eyelids wide open.
I followed their stares—not entirely sure I wanted to see what they saw—but found nothing but a distant, empty void.
“What is this?” I murmured.
The hall of Madness … don’t linger or it will trap you too.